Jul
7
cries of history, cries of time
No Semana Santa,
nor will there be
in the Plaza Mayor
today
The sun is down
the tables gone
the walls are echoing
silence
All that walks
within the square
are ghosted
histories
Of trial days
and bombing planes
Of tears spilled
and
blood pooled
Here in the dark
no telltale mark
of lives
that slipped away
Here in the dark
if you harken sharp
you may hear
cries of those gone
days
I stand here
neath an old archway
listening for a sign
The only sound,
my heart beat’s
throb
reminding of
time’s flight
